


Broken Skin and Bleeding Hearts

by AccioInvisibilityCloak



Category: Lovely Little Losers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roller Derby, Blood, F/F, Femslash February 2017, Fluff and Angst, Girls Kissing, Minor Injuries, Pining, Roller Derby, Swearing, some sexual content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 08:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9596690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccioInvisibilityCloak/pseuds/AccioInvisibilityCloak
Summary: Freddie Kingston's life is not going the way she oh-so-meticulously planned. Maybe joining a women's roller derby team will help her sort her head out- or maybe it will only leave her heart bruised. Either way, a little pain never hurt anybody, right?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: My roller derby research is limited to Google and rewatching the movie "Whip It!" recently. Jaquie's derby name is actually from the movie, I didn't make that up. Any other name similarities to actual roller derby skaters or team names is a total coincidence. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy! Happy Femslash February! :D

*******

_Intimidated_ is not a strong enough word for how Freddie feels when she walks into the roller rink for the first time.

She’s an experienced skater, it isn’t that. It’s just- it’s like nothing she’s done before. Those sleek, vicious girls in their little skirts, careening around the track, pushing and shoving, bouncing off the rails, out for blood. _Roller derby_. She’s really here.

After both her law degree and her Olympic in-line skating dream went out the window (thanks for that, debilitating anxiety disorder), Freddie is back home in Wellington, lost and angry and sad, sleeping on her friend Benedick’s couch. She still skates every day, still feels the closest to okay when she’s pushing her body to the brink.

But she needs a plan. She needs an outlet for all her stress and hard training, now that she’s screwed up everything else in her life. And that’s why Freddie’s here. Quad skates and fishnets are her new plan. Roller derby can be her outlet.

        The coach is a weird scruffy dude who calls himself Costa, sporting an impressive mustache, high-rise jean shorts, and a large folder of derby plays held in one arm. The girls skid to a stop, one by one, calling each other names, spitting out blood, giving Costa shit for his playbook and coaching style. Freddie stares.

        The nearest skater looks right back at her, unperturbed- and smiles. It’s a shark’s smile, devious and dark, like she’s thinking Freddie’s good enough to eat. Freddie’s tongue snakes out to lick her lips, and she blushes. The other girl’s helmet doesn’t quite hide her thick black hair, as dark as her eyeliner and the nasty bruise starting high on her cheek, and she laughs as Freddie skates closer.

“Hey there, freshmeat,” the girl says, leaning so close Freddie can smell the salt and sweat on her skin. “They call me Queen O’Scream. Scared yet?”

Freddie squeaks, “No!”

“You will be,” smirks the Queen- and then suddenly, a familiar girl is tackling Freddie in a one-armed hug. Benedick’s girlfriend, Beatrice, captain of the Lady MacDeaths, and the one who’d convinced Freddie to try out for this insane sport.

“Oh, shut up, Meg,” Beatrice laughs. “You’ll scare off our secret weapon!”

“M-me?” Freddie asks nervously, at the same time as Meg scoffs, “ _Her?_ ”

“Hell yeah,” Beatrice says. “Come on, give her a chance to show you. Get it, Freddie! Woo!”

And Freddie is unceremoniously shoved onto the track, slipping and sliding on the wheels of her new-used skates for an embarrassing moment. She rights herself, takes her mark. Showtime.

*******

         That’s six months ago now. Freddie can’t believe how things have slid into place since then. She spends her days working at Boyet’s Coffee near her apartment, and her nights at practice, tearing up the track as the newest derby royalty, Red Shredder. She came up with the name herself.

It’s no law career, but Freddie almost doesn’t care anymore. Shredding the racetrack at high speed, hauling ass, taking names, making their rivals bleed- it’s the only thing that shuts her brain up, the closest Freddie ever has to feeling calm.

She’s never fit in anywhere so easily, so quickly. The team is like a family, and they’ve taken Freddie in as one of their own.

         Beatrice is Scary Shelley, the team’s main jammer. It’s her job to score by passing as many of the other team’s skaters as possible, while everyone else tries to block the other team and their jammer from catching her. Freddie has been hearing all about Beatrice from Ben basically nonstop for the past three years they’ve been together, but now the girls are friends in their own right. Off the track, they talk about books, mostly. Bea is a total badass, but she’s secretly just as nerdy as Ben, so they get along well.

Then there’s Jaquie, known on the track as Jaquie Daniels. When she’s not doing derby or community theater, she works as a bartender, so the name fits. Freddie and Jaquie have a few mutual friends, so it’s been easy getting to know her too. They hang out, sometimes go with the rest of the girls to one of Cadence Headspin’s music gigs.

Cadence is the fighter of the team, never passing up a chance to take her opponent down when it’s her turn to jam, and her real name is Paige. Her skate covers have glittery rainbow music notes all over them, and she’ll kick anyone’s ass at a moment’s notice, smiling sweetly the whole time.

One of the best things about the team is that it’s given Freddie such a great chance to become friends with some fellow queer women. Paige is gay, and Jaquie is bi. Freddie knows Queen O’Scream is also bi, not that they talk much. Freddie’s pretty sure that Meg hates her guts. Which is infuriating, especially because she’d thought things were going so well.

         Meg likes to tease her, to push her, get under her skin. At practice, Meg is the one who works with Freddie on her attack moves, her thrusts and hits and blocks. She gets right up in Freddie’s face, daring Freddie to clock a hit on her, pushing her around and knocking her into the rails.

“You can’t hesitate, Red,” Meg tells her. “You’re scared, and the other skaters can see it. That makes you vulnerable, weak. You’ve got to show them they’re wrong about you. So hit me. Go on!” She jerks a finger in a ‘come here’ motion, smirking again.

Freddie skates straight for Meg, readying her elbow to shove her out of the way- but Meg’s reflexes are too quick, and Freddie is laid out, flat on her ass before she can even blink. Dazed, she stares up at the Queen, feeling the skin of her right hip begin to purple beneath her shorts.

“That’s gonna leave a bruise,” Meg laughs, reaching out a hand to help her up, and Freddie blushes.

“I- I, uh…” she mumbles, willing herself to quit staring at Meg already.

“Take a lap, shake it off, Red. Better luck next time.” The Queen skates away, and Freddie watches her for a moment, sighs, and follows after.

*******

                It goes on like that for a while. In practice, Meg is all over Freddie, teaching her which zones are illegal to hit someone in, grabbing Freddie’s waist with her slender fingers to execute a perfect whip, holding on for just a little too long. She’ll whisper her next move in Freddie’s ear, causing goosebumps all along her arms and making her sigh- and then she’ll be gone, skating away, refusing to look Freddie in the eye. It’s infuriating. Freddie loves it.

She shows up early and trains til late, and Meg trains with her, enjoying the fact that she outpaces Freddie every time. Well, not for long.

Sometimes they sit together when the team goes out after practices, to their favorite bar for drinks and greasy French fries. Meg mostly keeps to herself, but as time goes on, she does talk to Freddie a little bit. How to cover up derby bruises for special occasions, how to stretch before and after practice, the paths near the waterfront she likes to run on. Meg never asks about her professional failures, either, unlike most people. Freddie almost thinks they might become friends.

And then she fucks it up, as she does with everything these days.

                Part of her wants to blame Ben and Bea. “Freddie, did you not tell me that Meg paid for your drink last time? And you held hands? I’m telling you, she’s into you,” Ben would say, whenever Meg came up in conversation. And Bea was always winking and asking the pair of them if they had any plans for after practice. They’re the ones who put the idea in Freddie’s head, dammit.

But really it’s her own fault, what happens. She shouldn’t have let herself end up alone and drunk in a corner of the bar, pressed up against her favorite tormentor, thigh to thigh. She shouldn’t have turned sideways in the sticky old booth, the better to see Meg’s face. And she definitely should not have taken Meg licking her lips and nodding back at her as a sign that she should lean in. But she did.

She’d kissed Meg, soft and gentle and shy. Meg had kissed her back- and almost immediately pushed her away. “I can’t,” she’d said, eyes wide. “I can’t do this. Fuck. I’m sorry.”

And then, Meg had practically _run_   out of the bar.

       And okay, Freddie can take rejection, that’s fine. She can deal with the velvet feel of Meg’s mouth still lingering on hers, the reality that she’ll never have that again. She can watch the other woman walk away. She’s had worse bruises.

But then, she had accidentally surprised Meg in the locker room after a game the next night, and the rough, tough Queen had been _crying_. Freddie didn’t press her on it- Meg hates to look weak, hates to admit there are ever any cracks in her powerhouse façade. But Freddie knows the truth, and Meg can’t handle that. They haven’t spoken since.

       Freddie works as hard as ever, but then there’s Meg, slacking off. Showing up late, leaving early. She still skates like a champ, but she won’t even look at Freddie anymore, unless it’s a glare. _Oh well_ , she thinks, who needs distractions? The season is in full swing, and it’s almost playoff time. _Discipline, Kingston,_ says Coach’s voice inside her head. _Don’t let your team down again._

Freddie tries, really tries not to stare at Meg during practice or rise to her taunts or get close enough to smell the salt on her, ever again. She tries to smack away the unwelcome butterflies in her stomach whenever she sees the Queen. They’re pointless, anyway, she tells herself.

Lot of good _trying_ does, she thinks, morning after morning, angry at herself for waking up sweaty and hot after the most realistic dreams of Meg on top of her, pinning her to the mattress, sealing her mouth with a kiss as her fingers slip down to Freddie’s thigh and then…

Yeah, the whole ignoring-her-crush-on-Meg thing is _definitely_   not going so well.

All Freddie can do is slip into her black fishnets and sky blue helmet, and skate her heart out. If her damn heart doesn’t want to go anywhere else, that’s its own problem.

*******

        Hot air rushes past Freddie’s face and heaves through her lungs, the tight, blue uniform sticking to her skin, the star on her helmet cover marking her as a wanted woman.

She has to push, push, _push_   her muscles just a little farther, whizzing around the bend in the track, the announcer’s voice and the crowd’s cheering ringing in her ears, her speed building until she can’t hear anything at all, can’t focus on anything. Nothing is real except the thrill of the race, and fuck gravity. Freddie’s _flying_.

And then her heart stops, and her feet shoot out from under her. She lands, hard, and skids across the track with a hiss of painful friction. That’s going to be fishnet burn.  

“And Red Shredder is down, people! Red Shredder eats it! That is not good for the Lady MacDeaths, folks!” the announcer cries gleefully. “The Dread Bolts take home four more points, and an early lead!”

Freddie groans from her spot on the track, struggling to catch her breath. Warm hands seize her at the waist and pull her into the center of the track to huddle on the ground next to her teammates’ bench. It’s Queen O’Scream herself.

“Th- thanks,” Freddie chokes out. Meg grabs the star helmet cover and starts to skate away.

“Don’t mention it,” she mutters.

           Freddie sits out for the next jam, staring at Meg as she gets ready to skate. That’s the first time she’s talked to her in weeks, Freddie realizes, and grins, slightly loopy from her fall (and from her crush on Meg, dammit).

Ben is waving at Freddie from the stands, and she waves back. The skaters are about to start, and he’s watching through his fingers as usual, the dork. He _hates_ seeing Bea get all roughed up on the track- although he clearly doesn’t object to her extremely tiny skirt and low-cut top.

Freddie rolls her eyes- then realizes what a hypocrite she is when she looks back at the team and her eye is immediately drawn to Meg’s cleavage as she’s leaning down into starting position. Freddie’s just as bad as Ben is- and worse, because she’s lusting over someone who doesn’t even like her back.

Ugh, feelings suck. She wishes she was out on the track, skating it the fuck off already. Costa puts a hand on her shoulder and tells her to hang in there, kiddo. Take a breather. She’s glad when he skates off to talk with the girls in this jam, leaving her alone to watch.

           It isn’t pretty. Jaquie is benched for straight-up punching a Bolts skater off the track for trying to trip her. Paige gets the wind knocked out of her by a slam into the guardrail, and Meg gets a nasty cut lip at the hands of the Bolts’ jammer, but she gets the four points, closing in a little on the Bolts’ lead. Freddie goes back in for the next jam, to do a whip maneuver and catapult the next jammer- Beatrice- up to the head of the pack.

All those sweaty bodies surrounding her, impeding her path. Freddie’s grateful claustrophobia isn’t on her list of irrational fears as she fights her way through to get to Bea. Meg careens up next to her to help execute the whip and- WHAM.

The other team turns on their collective heels, slamming the Lady MacDeaths to the ground all at once, so it’s only the Bolts’ jammer speeding off ahead. Freddie can’t even groan- Meg has landed right on top of her as the jam is called for the Bolts, and she’s leaning in close and staring into Freddie’s eyes like she’s never seen her before, like she doesn’t realize her knee is pressing between Freddie’s legs in a way that’s entirely too similar to her dream last night, and-

Meg is gone. Freddie can breathe again. Barely.

_What the hell was that?_

*******

          “What the hell was that?” Freddie demands of Meg, as soon as they reach the locker room after the game.

(The Lady MacDeaths eventually won the bout with an excellent whip and a last-minute score by the one and only, Scary Shelley. “She’s ALIIIIIVE!” the announcer had crowed, to the audience’s delight. After the team huddle, Beatrice skated off, probably to celebrate with Ben in a way Freddie would seriously rather not ever have to see, and the other girls are still out doing victory laps, so for now, Meg and Freddie are alone.)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Meg snaps, tearing off her helmet so her dark hair streams down her back, dirty and greasy and somehow still beautiful. She’s still breathing heavily, covered in sweat and blood.

“Don’t give me that shit,” Freddie says, and Meg looks up in surprise. Freddie doesn’t usually swear unless she’s really pissed. Which she is.

          “Look, I thought we were friends, and then you decided you hated me, and you can’t just- you can’t just go around rejecting people and then almost kissing them again in the middle of a game! You can’t fucking- what did I do to make you hate me so much, Meg? Just _tell me._ What did I do?”

Freddie shouts until she runs out of breath, and Meg just stands there, stands there and takes it. Her eyes are wide, and her face is frozen in shock. For a long moment, there is silence.

“You made me like you too much, before I was ready,” Meg says then. “I assume Beatrice told you all about my last asshole of a boyfriend, right?”

“What?” Freddie says. “No, I-”

“Well, there was a boyfriend,” Meg spits, like even the concept tastes bitter in her mouth. “And he was an asshole, so I got out. I was still hurting. I wasn’t ready to move on, and then you showed up.”

“Oh, God,” Freddie deflates, gasping. “Meg, I…”

“Yeah. So. I wanted you. I wanted you so much, Freddie. But I knew I would just hurt you, because _I_ was hurting, and I was scared, and I _hated_ you for making me have to walk away.” Meg is crying again, wincing as the salted tears hit her cut lip, and Freddie can’t explain what makes her say what she says next.

“…Can I kiss you?” she murmurs, moving closer. “I should have asked you before. I’m sorry. I didn’t-”

“No,” Meg says, then shakes her head. “I mean, _don’t_   be sorry. I mean-” She gives up. Words aren’t enough anymore, and when she grabs Freddie’s head in her hands and leans in, Freddie lets her.

          It tastes wet like tears and metallic like blood and warm like the air whizzing past their faces when they skate in the old gymnasium. Meg’s uniform shirt is half unbuttoned and she brings Freddie’s hand up to her chest, whimpers underneath Freddie’s mouth, because of the cut that Freddie can feel under her lips now, the mark of the kind of strength and the kind of insanity that only derby girls quite manage to have.

“Freddie…” Meg moans, pulling away by a millimeter. “Are we…?”

“Duh,” Freddie breathes, and closes the space again. "Shut up."

And Freddie clings to Meg, wrapping her legs around the other girl’s waist, slipping her tongue into her mouth, rough and sweet until the cut on her lip must be burning, but clearly, by the way she's kissing Freddie back, Meg doesn’t want her to stop. A little pain never hurt anybody, after all, so Freddie presses closer.

It’s exhilarating, like being out on the track, but so much better, glazed with heat. Dizzy, like a total headrush.

Like she’s finally, truly, lighter than air.

*******


End file.
